Up to My Neck in You
by SocialDegenerate
Summary: There are a lot of things Steve doesn't understand about the twenty-first century. Luckily, Tony is more than happy to help him learn.


*******I'm throwing together a bunch of different canons here, plus just making some stuff up completely. But my main frame of reference comes from the movies- yet I'm avoiding certain things that happen in the Avengers movie to stop major spoilers. Even though everyone should have seen it already.

Twice.*******

* * *

Everything Tony did seemed…wrong.

Sure, Steve knew that it was the twenty-first century- how could he _not_, considering that he was constantly surrounded by the kind of things that, a few weeks ago to him, were the stuff of fiction.

But even so, Tony seemed to be the crudest, most irreverent, most over-sexualised and most wasteful person in a world that _was_ all of those things. It really wasn't, then, a surprise that the older…younger…_whichever_ man had grated on his nerves from the very beginning.

Coming out of the Depression and the war into a world where any man would throw money around like it grew on trees simply _reeked_ of selfishness to Steve. Though having seen some of the things that Tony created, Steve wouldn't have been surprised if Tony actually had managed to build some sort of money tree.

Having said that…Steve knew that Tony wasn't actually a selfish or bad person, despite the front he put up. No selfish man would strap himself into a suit of armour, no matter how strong or technologically advanced, and try to take down everything ranging from alien gods (_alleged_ gods- Steve still wasn't sold on the idea of the Asgardians being holy beings) to mad scientists to _who_ knew what.

So maybe Tony wasn't so wrong after all: maybe it was just that Steve's perspective had become a little outdated after, oh, seven-odd decades in ice. The other man was a product of the world he was born into, after all…

"…and _that_ is how I made it with the three Swedish models."

Steve managed to avoid physically jerking as Tony's voice shocked him out of his thoughts, but he was still thrown for a loop as he realised just how little attention he'd been paying. He'd been trying to make a concerted effort to get along better with his teammate, hence why he was currently on Tony's private jet, and now he just felt rude for not keeping up with the conversation.

"I'm sorry, you made what with these models?"

Tony smirked, which Steve was slowly learning to be a bad sign. "Y'know, _made_ _it_ with them."

"It?" Modern slang was still something Steve was having a big problem with. Sometimes it felt like the people around him were speaking an entirely different language than the one he'd grown up with…but Clint had pointed out- more than once- that Steve was actually the one who sounded like he was speaking something foreign.

Which had seemed slightly offensive, until Steve remembered being taught about 'multiculturalism' and 'racism'. People no longer immediately equated being foreign with being bad.

"Jeez, how the hell would you old timey guys put it?" Tony wondered aloud, tapping a finger against his chin. Steve frowned at being called old, even if it was technically true…but he certainly didn't look or feel ninety.

"I, Tony Stark, had pre-marital sexual relations with three Swedish models…simultaneously."

Steve's jaw dropped.

He took back everything he said about Tony not being as bad as he appeared. He was almost certainly _worse_.

And how on _earth_ would four people…no, that was something that Steve most definitely did not want to begin thinking about. He was the symbol of everything that was good and virtuous about America.

Tony would _not_ corrupt him away from that.

* * *

It would _never_ stop being fun making Steve blush. Even if it was almost _too_ easy, there was something utterly glorious about shocking Captain Goddamn America into silence.

Because really, Adult Tony was a sadistic asshole, and whatever remained of Kid Tony was just freaking out about actually talking to Captain America, let alone being his tutor in all things modern. Self-appointed tutor, sure, but _someone _had to show Steve the world beyond dry S.H.I.E.L.D. rundowns of the past few decades. And he wasn't going to let any of the other Avengers do it: Clint had _terrible_ taste in everything, Natasha wouldn't have been much better than the S.H.I.E.L.D. files, Bruce tended to shy away from the _really_ fun stuff, and Thor didn't know much more than Steve did.

Hence why they were currently on the largest of Tony's private jets, occasionally setting down wherever Tony decided Steve needed to visit.

By this point, though, Tony had been through quite a few martinis, so it was probably time to head back home…though there was _one_ more thing that Steve really did need to see.

Pressing a discreet button next to his seat, Tony grinned as the jet's speakers began to pump fast-paced dance music- not his usual tastes, but definitely better for the show. Beside him, Steve looked confused and glanced around for the source of the noise, meaning that he missed a small portion of the floor opening as a pole extended to the jet's ceiling.

The music starting alerted the flight attendants, who honestly did enjoy partying as part of their job, and a group filed out from another area, clothing getting tossed to all sides.

After taking a moment to enjoy the girls, Tony turned to take in Steve's reaction. As expected, it was fuckin' _priceless_.

His skin was bright red from hairline to collar, and his eyes were darting around as he presumably tried to find a safe place to rest his gaze. Apparently, Captain America didn't feel comfortable watching women in their underwear swinging around poles.

Well, that was his loss. Tony was perfectly happy to sit back and watch, drink in hand. He'd eventually manage to teach Steve to enjoy the finer things in life.

Until then, though, he was happy to put that bright flush on the Cap's face as often as humanly possible.

Maybe he'd even get around to telling Steve that one of those Swedish models had actually been male…but he was thinking that he'd keep that one for a special occasion.

Like, right before a meeting with Fury. Or _during_ a meeting with Fury.

Now _that_ would make it worth actually attending one of those boring things.

* * *

If he wasn't ninety-nine percent certain that the serum had made it impossible, Steve would have been worried that Tony was going to give him a heart attack one of these days.

Currently back in the relative safety of his room at the Avengers Mansion, Steve was trying to recover from his whirlwind trip. The women on the jet had all started out so unfailingly polite: how could they have become so _indecent_ so quickly? Even if it was the twenty-first century, surely no _proper_ woman would act like that.

And when Tony had ended up dancing with them, grinning widely and cheeks flushed with the effects of alcohol…

Steve cleared his throat. Even if only he was privy to his thoughts, he felt the beginnings of the shame and guilt that had flared up regularly in his younger years, caused by other disgraceful feelings that he'd learnt to push back whenever he caught himself admiring the strong, muscular bodies of the other enlisted men.

Because that was most certainly all it had been: admiration of their fitness in comparison to his own sickly, weak body. The serum had cured him, both physically and mentally. They'd assured him that _all_ his sickness would be gone.

A knock on the door flared the guilt higher, Steve sure that someone had somehow figured out the direction his thoughts had been heading. Fighting it back, he stood and opened the door to find Tony standing there, a number of bags at his feet.

"You ran off before they unloaded the stuff you bought," Tony announced, casually pushing his way past Steve and into the room, settling down on the large bed. Steve didn't think it polite to deny someone access to a room in a house they _owned_, so he let Tony brush him aside even though he could easily have held his ground.

He busied himself with picking up the multitude of bags Tony had left in the doorway, clearing his mind of any potentially dangerous thoughts. Tony was a teammate: Steve would remain unfalteringly professional in all their encounters _and_ his own thoughts.

"Tony, you honestly didn't have to purchase all this for me. I've been outfitted well enough by S.H.I.E.L.D., and most of this was just so expensive," he remarked as the bags were settled by the wardrobe.

Turning around, Steve saw that Tony was raising a single dark eyebrow. "Cap, I'm a billionaire. A couple hundred bucks worth of clothes- decent ones, not that standard-issue crap- is the absolute least I can do for America's hero."

Ever modest, Steve blushed at the title. He _really_ needed to work on not doing that in reaction to nearly everything Tony said. "I saw the price totals, there are at _least_ several thousand dollars-"

"It's _nothing_, Steve. Seriously. And what kind of a friend would I be if I let you keep wearing that polyester shit? I know you're from the forties, but you could at least take advantage of modern comforts."

Steve had to clear his throat before he spoke, taken aback by the idea of the other man referring to him as a friend. Maybe things weren't as bad between them as he had thought. Still, friends or not, a ludicrous amount of money had been spent that day. "_Tony_…"

"Nope. We're not having a discussion about this. Now get your ass downstairs, Thor's been yelling something about having a 'mighty celebration worthy of Asgard'. Actually, I'm kinda surprised you couldn't hear him. He _always_ gets super worked up whenever he wins a bet with Clint."

That was true. Thor always seemed to excessively celebrate the smallest things, which meant that the mansion was almost destroyed every time something actually _worthy_ of celebration happened. Tony certainly didn't help that, what with the amount of money he would spend on alcohol whenever Thor wanted to rejoice.

Sighing lightly at the thought of _another_ party, Steve went to leave the room, only to pause when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned back, looking at Tony expectantly.

"I didn't buy you new clothes so that you could keep wearing that other stuff. Get changed, then come down." Winking, Tony slipped out of the room, scratching idly at the outer rim of the arc reactor. Steve watched him go, shaking his head, then picked a bag at random to search through its contents.

The price of any one thing in the bags could probably have gotten him anything he dreamed back in the forties. Even if Tony had continually insisted they were a gift, Steve felt uneasy about so much money going towards _clothes_.

Still, he supposed that it was one more sign that Tony wasn't as selfish as he had originally appeared. Steve's first impressions had almost certainly been unfairly hasty.

* * *

Tony was only half-listening to Clint babbling on about something when the sharpshooter suddenly cut himself off, fingers lifting to his mouth to let out a loud wolfwhistle. Glancing over his shoulder, Tony saw Steve self-consciously hunch his body, all signs of Captain America's confidence gone.

It had taken Steve so long to get changed, there was already enough alcohol flowing through Tony's body to kill the average man. That meant it felt natural to walk over to the blond man and slide a hand under his chin, lifting his head into a more self-assured position.

"Lookin' good, baby," Tony drawled, smiling in the flirtatious way that was practically instinctive for him. Steve bit his lip and awkwardly dropped his gaze, arms crossing across his chest as if to shield himself from the attention.

In the background, Clint was drunkenly yelling, "Fight fight fight, kiss kiss kiss," but he let out a yelp and stopped when Natasha clipped him across the back of the head. Tony took a step back to properly look at Steve's black fitted jeans and light blue collared shirt, silently praising himself on his shopping talent.

Actually, that deserved wider acknowledgement that just _private_ praise.

"Hey, kiddiewinks," Tony yelled, "how damn good am I at saving heroes from S.H.I.E.L.D. 'fashion'? Pretty goddamn good, if I say so myself!"

…Maybe Steve's skin would eventually get stuck that bright red colour. It'd be cute, Tony figured.

Alerted by Tony's self-gratification, it was then that Thor came bounding over, a ridiculous drinking horn full of _something_ in each hand.

"Steven!" He boomed in his usual demure fashion. "Come, drink with me! Honour our ancestors on this day of great glory!"

Steve was looking at the horns with a seriously concerned expression, sending Tony into drunken hysterics. "Apparently, Clint bet Thor that he couldn't use lightning to knock an arrow outta the sky. Think you can guess who won that one."

"Uh…well done?" Steve said uncertainly, still watching the horns as if they were going to attack him. "But we've been through this before: alcohol has no effect on me because of the serum."

Now _that_ had to be the worst thing ever, in Tony's opinion. Sure, super strength, a bitchin' body and whatever else were great and all, but what good was it all if a guy couldn't even get drunk? Thor, though, wasn't deterred by this at all.

"Indeed! This makes you a worthy man to drink by my side, even where most Midgardians fail!" A drinking horn was thrust in Steve's face, and he very reluctantly took it, realising that things would probably end badly if he refused.

Tony watched gleefully as Thor yelled something indecipherable and began to drink deeply, Steve taking his cue and doing the same. The pair both drained their horns, Thor throwing his to the ground with a broad smile.

"Thank you, Steven! You have done your forefathers proud!" Ever-present cape swirling dramatically around his ankles, Thor bounded off elsewhere, leaving Steve and Tony to their own devices for a moment. As soon as he knew it was safe, Steve's face screwed up into a look of pure disgust, making Tony laugh again.

"That tastes _horrible_," the blond man confided quietly, laying the horn on the nearest table. "Theoretically, I know why people drink to excess, but in my experience it's simply disgusting."

Tony hummed in sympathy, only taking in half the words he was hearing. He was too busy watching an escaped drop of liquor make its way down Steve's neck…

"…I mean, Bucky would…"

It would really be a shame to waste even a little bit of whatever the hell Thor had bought…

"…And then- _gah!_"

Steve's voice cracked hilariously as Tony's tongue made contact with his neck, an alcohol haze telling the man that licking the drop from that enticing length of skin was entirely necessary.

"_Tony!" _Steve hissed, looking around wildly. "What if someone saw you do that? It's dangerous to go around, being so…_close_ with other men!"

Tony blinked, uncomprehending. "JARVIS," he slurred.

"Yes, sir?" The A.I. replied dryly.

"Keep the video feed of that conversation, I wanna watch it tomorrow to figure out what the hell Steve's trying to tell me."

Tony didn't remember programming his A.I. to sigh at him. He guessed that was the sort of thing that happened after working for three days straight with no sleep, which would actually explain quite a lot.

And now Steve was sighing too, shaking his head with a disappointed look on his face. Dammit, Tony hated that expression: it always made him feel like he'd punched a bald eagle in the face. Stupid patriotic hottie.

"Don't look at me like that," Tony most definitely didn't whine. "I hate it when you look at me like that, because I just want to buy you puppies until you look happy again. I don't even _like _puppies, they're messy and annoying and loud and…"

"Tony, I think you've had more than enough to drink. Maybe you should go to bed."

"Pffft," Tony dismissed, waving an unsteady hand around. "If I'm going home alone, I ain't going at all."

Unsteadily, he wandered off in search of more booze, which was easily found. Tony paid no more attention to Steve's whereabouts for the rest of the evening, and the last thing he remembered before blacking out was stupidly getting into a drinking contest with Thor.

* * *

There were times when Steve wished the serum hadn't steeled his body against the effects of alcohol, and then there were _these_ times.

The mansion was an absolute mess of trash and sleeping heroes: Clint and Natasha were entwined on the dining room floor- luckily, both fully clothed- and Steve could see Thor through the big windows, spread out in the garden. He hadn't come across Tony yet, but then again, there were a _lot_ of rooms he hadn't been through.

Moving into the kitchen to grab a drink before going out for his early morning run, Steve brought himself up short in the doorway.

He'd found Tony: passed out across a counter, utterly naked. And the glow from the reactor was giving Steve more than enough light to see every little detail.

Half of Steve was ashamed for the other man, having gotten so utterly drunk and becoming so honestly vulnerable. The other half just wanted to know _how_ a man who never seemed to work out had such good muscle definition. But he quickly chastised himself for those thoughts: it wasn't _right _to be looking so shamelessly at Tony's body.

Even if he _did_ have a rather fetching…_no_.

Making a quick detour into the home theatre room, Steve grabbed one of the blankets that were folded up over the couches, making a concerted effort not to look at Tony while he covered him up.

With a _slight_ amount of Tony's dignity recovered, Steve headed to the ground floor and out into the crisp morning air. He didn't really need to jog, his fitness level being essentially unchangeable, but he'd always enjoyed the peace that running gave him.

Focusing on the feeling of his feet hitting the ground, Steve was glad for a reprieve from all the confusion and oddness of the modern world. Simply running was one thing that hadn't really changed, no matter how many pairs of "super-technologically-awesome" shoes Tony tried to coax him into.

Tony really wasn't that different from his father: always in his laboratory, inventing something wild, and then trying to trick people into testing whatever that day's project happened to be.

Steve quickly found himself wondering what had happened to Howard- apart from siring a child, of course. Tony never seemed to talk about his family, and Steve didn't want to pry. Maybe his parents' death was still a hard topic for Tony to talk about, and that was worth being mindful of.

He found himself inadvertently slowing down as his thoughts grew more melancholic. He had already accepted the fact that everyone he had known was dead; that didn't mean he wasn't still bogged down by grief occasionally. He hadn't been able to properly mourn anyone: one day they'd been alive, and the next they'd been dead for years.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him the option of speaking with a counsellor, which Steve had declined. No one could possibly understand the feeling of losing the entire world, and he didn't particularly want to open up to someone completely. There were too many dark things inside his head, too many things that he'd hidden to avoid getting into serious trouble.

Although it seemed like people didn't openly mock those with…_impure_ urges, Steve didn't actually know whether someone could still be arrested for that sort of thing. It was one question he didn't feel comfortable asking someone he didn't trust, just in case they connected the dots together.

Captain America couldn't be arrested for immorality. It would make S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers a laughing stock.

Still running, Steve lifted a hand to his neck, where Tony had drunkenly licked him the night before. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he would have admitted that his discomfort had been spurred on from the fact that he had, just maybe, enjoyed the contact a little. As it was, though, Steve was resolutely telling himself that Tony's behaviour had been inappropriate and unwanted.

And, in the grand scheme of things, it had probably only been a drunken indiscretion. He might not have been in the twenty-first century for too long, but Steve knew Tony's reputation. The man was _always_ surrounded by beautiful women, and had even dated Miss Potts for a while- he wasn't entirely sure how that had ended, but apparently it hadn't been too bad. The pair still managed to work together without too many problems.

In any case, it was obvious that Tony was heterosexual. The way a hero _should_ be.

Steve's heart clenched in guilt, and he was glad that he could see the mansion in the distance. His relaxing run had quickly degenerated into a time for all of his worst thoughts to come to mind, and he would be glad for some distraction. Hopefully, some of the others would be awakening soon.

Walking into the kitchen for breakfast, Steve realised that more time must have passed than he realised. All the other Avengers were already there, a rare occurrence to have them all there at once.

And Tony was now sitting up on the counter, only covered by the blanket. _Barely_ covered, at that. The material was pooled around his waist, where he was cradling a cup of coffee in his lap like it was a lifeline. Steve's eyes began to trace the lines of that bare back without permission from his brain, the muscles under Tony's skin jumping as he lifted the cup to his mouth.

"Good morning, Steve," Bruce's quiet mumble came, making Steve guiltily jerk his gaze away from Tony. Clearing his throat, he gave the group his best 'everything is a-okay' smile. He hoped no one noticed the faint blush heating his cheeks at _almost_ being caught staring at another man.

"It's nice to see that you're all still alive," he greeted, being very careful _not_ to look at Tony as he took in the varied states of his teammates. Thor looked bright and happy, if not a little dishevelled with twigs caught in his hair; Natasha and Clint looked far more the worse for wear, and both grunted at him. Bruce looked exhausted, but as Steve hadn't seen him anywhere near the party, he could only assume that the scientist had been working in his own lab all night.

"Oi, Stevie," Tony said in a rough voice. Steve tried to hide his grimace, turning around and steadfastly fixing his gaze _only_ on the other man's face.

"Yes, Tony?"

"JARVIS tells me that you were the one who covered me up. Can't believe you'd deprive me of the opportunity to bestow my morning glory on everyone else." Tony smirked, though it dropped when Clint piped up.

"Thanks for saving us from that, Cap," the archer grinned, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "You're a top guy."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony grumbled. "Steve Rogers is perfect, we all know that."

Clint laughed, then winced and pressed two fingers against his forehead. "Ow, it hurts to laugh. But don't be petty just because you haven't got to bang your childhood idol yet."

"I will _never_ forgive JARVIS for telling you that, Clint. Stupid traitorous AI, passive-aggressively going all Skynet on my ass. And as if _you_ wouldn't hit that." Steve blinked, uncomprehending, as Tony waved a hand at him. He'd already been confused enough by the implication that he had been Tony's childhood idol, and he had _no _idea what the pair were talking about after that.

Well, he could probably hazard a guess or two, but he figured that he would be way off the mark.

"Sorry Tony, but not all of us will sleep with anything that looks at us for longer than five seconds. Besides, I'm only interested in chicks," Clint said as he slung an arm over Natasha's shoulder. Almost immediately, he was bent over and groaning, the volatile woman having jabbed her elbow into his side.

"Your loss, I guess," Tony mock-sighed as he took a long swallow from his mug. "Only an idiot would limit themselves to half the population."

Utterly confused, Steve took the opportunity to retreat to his room. He needed time to deconstruct what he'd just heard.

If it was what he _thought_ it was, though…it was giving him a very different perspective on the modern world.

* * *

Tony was in his lab, fiddling around with his repulsors when JARVIS cut off the loud music and cleared his throat. Now, why the hell would he have programmed something _that_ unnecessary in? He honestly didn't remember doing that, either.

"Sir, Mister Rogers is currently coming this way. Would you like me to let him in?"

Tony didn't bother even pausing in his work. "Just find out what he wants."

"Very good, sir."

The screen beside him flickered to life, showing surveillance footage of Steve walking up to the lab door. The sound of him knocking filtered through the speakers, the thoroughly sound-proofed walls blocking off the original noise.

"How can Mister Stark help you today, Mister Rogers?" JARVIS' automated voice came through the speakers. Tony actually glanced up at that point, taking in the camera's footage of Steve shifting uncomfortably.

"I, uh…was actually just wondering if Tony wouldn't mind answering a question or two for me."

"Fuck," Tony swore under his breath. This _had_ to be about Clint and that 'childhood idol' jab. Stupid, shit-stirring little archer.

"JARVIS," he said in a louder voice. "Ask him why he can't just Google them."

"With all due respect, sir, I believe that Mister Rogers prefers to learn from other humans. I will still enquire though, if you wish."

Sighing, Tony set down his soldering iron and collapsed onto a nearby stool. "Don't bother. Just let him in."

If he dealt with this now, he could get back to work without JARVIS tutting at him. Yet another mysterious personality flaw that the AI seemed to have. Not to mention his apparent love for Steve: dammit, the guy was so gorgeous and perfect that even computer programs liked him.

Light footsteps behind him made Tony spin his chair around. "Good evening, Mister Rogers. I've been expecting you."

He couldn't help but laugh at Steve's utterly lost look. "Guess I haven't taught you about Bond yet. We'll get there."

"Uh…" Steve started, probably still wondering why Tony had said good evening when it was only the early afternoon. At least, he _thought_ it was still the afternoon, but time had a bad habit of slipping away while he was working.

"You said you had a couple of questions?" Tony prompted, waving his hand at another nearby seat and feeling immensely glad when Steve sat. He _hated_ talking to people when they were looming over him, especially figures as imposing as Steve. It always made him feel like he was back at boarding school, getting in trouble for arguing with his idiot science teachers.

"Yes, I suppose," Steve mumbled, biting his lip. Tony could only wonder what Steve would come out with: the man asked the absolute _weirdest_ things.

"I just wanted to ask," the blond started again, "about what you and Clint were discussing earlier."

Tony groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "Stupid Clint. Can never keep his mouth shut about stuff that doesn't need to be said around other people."

"Oh…so it still isn't accepted?"

Tony lifted his head, peering over at Steve. "_What_ isn't accepted? I don't get it."

"Being…like _that_," Steve muttered with a bright flush. Tony raised an eyebrow, now fairly certain that they were on two different pages.

"Wait, what do you think I'm talking about?"

If it was even possible, Steve blushed even harder. He kept moving his eyes around nervously, and there was a long pause. "…I…am not really sure. What _are _you talking about?"

For a brief moment, Tony considered making Steve tell first, but then he realised how that would make him sound like a twelve-year-old girl. Shaking his head, he scooted the stool back so that he could lean against a workbench.

"I was talking about how Clint outed me as a Captain America fanboy when I was young. But then again, who wasn't? Especially when my father devoted every spare moment to either finding you or talking about you."

Steve looked taken aback, and Tony confirmed his theory that they'd been talking about two different things. Now he was seriously curious about where Steve had been heading.

"Oh," Steve said, seeming a little bit more relieved. "Well, I actually wanted to know…"

"Yeeees?" Tony prompted when the other man hesitated.

Steve wrung his hands, looking supremely uncomfortable. Tony would have laughed, if this conversation hadn't been taking up his precious lab time. _Finally,_ though, Steve spoke up again.

"How do people, modern people I mean, feel about…well…uh, I was just wondering because of what Clint and you were saying…"

"Gonna spit it out, Cap, or are we going to be here all night? Because I'm happy to spend the night with you, but it better involve a lot less clothing or I'm gonna be pissy in the morning."

"That's exactly it!" Steve exclaimed. "How can you be so openly…_flirtatious_ with me?"

"Because you're the perfect specimen of manhood, or so the propaganda tells me?" Tony said in his best 'duh' voice. "Pretty much everyone _wants_ to flirt with you, I'm just the only one with enough balls to actually do it."

"But we're both _men!"_ Steve exploded, finally dropping his hesitation in favour of a confused outburst. Tony stared, wide-eyed, at the apparent loss of control. He honestly had to wonder how many other people had ever seen Steve this messed up: it was a world away from the picture-perfect Captain America in all the old films his father had owned.

And then Steve's words clicked. Tony's naturally analytical mind kicked into gear, running through the possibilities of where this was headed. His best guess was that Steve was feeling some kickback from those not-so-great forties sensibilities.

"Steve, I know it was a big thing back in your time, but this is modern-day America. No one gets thrown in jail for being gay anymore, at least not _here_. Sure, some people still don't like it when a dude wants to take a cock up his ass, but they're idiots."

Tony didn't think he'd ever get bored of Steve's shocked expression, the one he got whenever he learnt something that _really_ blew his mind.

"And…what you and Clint were saying this morning?" The blond man finally managed to get out. Tony smiled seductively, resting back further against the workbench.

"I've slept with guys, Steve. They're just never as famous as the girls I sleep with, so the tabloids don't usually get wind of it. And, before you ask, people _can_ like both. Like I said to Clint, why bother limiting yourself to half the people in the world? A good time is a good time."

The shocked look on Steve's face had turned into conflict, and Tony felt the final piece fall into place. Steve was _feeling_ something that jarred with his old-fashioned views. Well, Tony figured he could help with that one.

The other man got to his feet, seeming like he was deep in thought. "I...thank you, Tony. That's all I need to know."

As he walked to the door, Tony joined him. Just before Steve could let himself out, though, Tony spun him around by the shoulder.

"Always happy to help out a living legend." Before Steve could start modestly protesting that title, Tony wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, pulling the taller man down into a short, closed-mouth kiss.

He let his hand trail across Steve's shoulder and back to his own side as the other man gaped at him, then winked playfully.

"Just let me know if you need help with any questions you might have about yourself."


End file.
